


A grove, a stone

by Kapten_Purple



Category: Original Work, Short Story - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kapten_Purple/pseuds/Kapten_Purple
Summary: A short story to finally get back into writing! Finally getting those creative juices flowing with a smol story abt fae and such!Please note tho that this is not quite done and any critique is welcome <3
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	A grove, a stone

It is a peaceful summer day, the sun shines her light through the sparse trees in a grove, resting high on the soft, cloudless sky. Within the secluded grove lies beds of beautiful wild flowers that paint purple, blue and white between the bright barked birches and ancient oaks. The air is filled with small, buzzing creatures, tirelessly collecting pollen and food for themselves and their homes. In the middle of this place though, poking out from tall, untamed grasses lay a stone. Marking the center of the near circular clearing it is claimed by many kinds of nature, from mosses and lichen to small and lonely flowers. Only the sharpest of eyes will notice the shallow and weathered runes covering it, and on this day those eyes were found.

From deep within the forest emerged many fae, from slender and regal elves to the small winged sprites, but the mightiest of them all were the trolls. Grand fae spirits of stone they appeared with their skin like old, overgrown rock. The trolls are a peculiar folk, especially among other fae, deeply connected with the earth and stone they are physically stronger than the typical tree dwelling elf. But take this not as a sign on their intellect, the old trolls bare many times the wisdom of any fast lived sprite. There are fae of many ages and sizes emerging into the grove, there are small pixies and young elves among their older siblings as well as the trolls. The elders of which wear magnificent, almost beard like clusters of stalactites (that grew right out of their stony faces). A few people (quite rudely) assumes these formations to be long noses and fangs of the trolls and fears them for it, and while a troll (or any fae for that matter) makes a formidable foe, such prejudice is blatantly untrue.

Returning to the grove, there is a tension building, an anxiety that makes the silence (which for a fae gathering is quite rare) feel agonizingly long. Sprites began whispering among themselves, while elves and trolls waited expectantly, there is an aura of excitement among the participants.

The pregnant pause was then interrupted by a low sound, a sound much like that of a rock hit against a boulder. Every eye is now turned towards the central stone, which cracked. Elves try their hardest to hold back some curious pixies and younger fae as the stone, with its roots, mosses and lichen, had opened up. Two hollow, bowl shaped pieces rolls into the grass, one crumbling into pebbles and one staying intact, and between them lays a small, stone skinned child. Struggling for a bit to get on their stomach they pushed up their head, their tiny shaggy haired head, to look at where they now were. But before they could as much as make a sound the gathering burst into cheer, happy yelling and applauds! It was a happy day! and a celebration was to be made, a feast prepared and bards fetched. The troll elder picked up the newborn child and their big, shimmering eyes instantly connected with the elders old and kind ones, this one will grow up strong, they knew so.

Among the preparations was of the babies bed, the pebbles from the broken half of the stone was poured into the still intact half, alongside grasses for resourcefulness, moss for future wealth and a piece of bear skin for health. And a feast of venison, boar, fruits and wine fed even the hungriest of trolls. While bard songs that sings of brave heroes, far off lands and unseen nature had the party happily go on and on until-

The celebration came to a halt as the elder troll stood up and spoke before the baby in their bed, he spoke of times long past, of family and friends lost and found. He spoke and pulled up a carved bear with intricate runes decorating its surface, he prayed and performed a small ritual above the child, faint sparkles of light drifted down, mesmerizing them and keeping them calm. As the ritual ended a small wave of force rushed like a sudden wind past the still feasting fae, and out into the surrounding woods. The last thing the infant heard before dozing off to sleep, a name, a name carried by that wind

_Roe of the grove_


End file.
